


Dungeon Crawl

by Rosehip



Series: Strange Luck [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:00:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: Macsen Surana is good at school, but school sucks. It sucks worse when he reanimates a rat and everyone freaks out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ever notice that heroic tales about dogs who die is an entire genre unto itself in child lit? Who do they think actually wants this many books about dead dogs?

 9:20 Dragon

 

Enchanter Dahlia worked one on one with the other children in the class. They were supposed to read the small books about Andraste's dog.

 

Macsen had read it four-and-a-half times now. He hadn't liked it the first time. There were no elves in it. All the mages were evil. The dog was nice and Macsen liked dogs generally, but he couldn't have a dog and the book was just rubbing it in at this point. Also, it had a sad ending. He did not want to get to the sad parts again, but he didn't have anything else to do.

 

Most kids came to the circle older than Macsen had been when he had. They came not knowing how to read more often than not. After over three years of trying very hard to do well in order to catch up with Jowan, Macsen had read every book they'd let children touch. The combined effect of all this being that Macsen remained one of the youngest children in his class, but he had passed the class up long ago. Nobody in charge had noticed, or made any move to see how he progressed.

 

_Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored._ Macsen noticed he was swinging his legs and stopped. Enchanter Dahlia had never actually made good on her threats to tie kids to their chairs for fidgeting, but everyone laughed and stared at the targeted fidgeter, anyway. She'd been known to paddle, and had lost her patience and hit Macsen right out of his chair once. He did not need that crap today. Or ever.

 

Macsen sighed.

 

A shadow fell over the table. “Macsen, do you need help with the story?”

 

Did this woman lose her memory? “No. I've read the book already.”

 

She looked down at him with obvious disbelief. “Perhaps you'd care to read that paragraph aloud?”

 

Macsen did. He didn't stumble at all.

 

Enchanter Dahlia sniffed. “But are you sure you understand it? What is the book really about?”

 

“It is about being a good friend, and how sometimes good people and dogs have to give up everything for the people they love. Also, mages are evil, dogs are great, and nobody wants elves around.”

 

“There is no call for such sass, young man. Start over from the beginning. When you finish, I want a page from you about what you've learned.” The class tittered.

 

This book could never teach Macsen one more thing. He _wanted_ more things to learn! More than that, he wanted to move up to Jowan's class instead of wasting time alone. Macsen looked his teacher dead in the eye and closed the book.

 

Her eyebrows lowered. “Corner. Empty your pockets, first.”

 

Unsure if he'd won or lost that battle, Macsen obeyed, losing every stub of charcoal and bit of string he might have used to avoid losing his mind. The charcoal doodles he'd done on the floor last time had been wiped away in the meantime.

 

Forever passed.

 

Twice.

 

Macsen peeked over his shoulder at the class. Several children still muddled through that awful book. Enchanter Dahlia caught his eye before he could turn back around.

 

“Are you ready to do as I asked?”

 

“Can I have a different book?”

 

“Does what I asked you to do involve a different book?”

 

“No, but...”

 

“Then you have your answer.”

 

“You have yours, too.”

 

“All right. You can stay there. This is your own fault.”

 

_Liar,_ Macsen thought. Enchanter Dahlia was being just plain mean. She often was. Macsen refused to take responsibility for her meanness. Staring at the wall compared only a little bit badly to reading the book again, and the idea of caving to her unreasonableness tipped the scales in the wall's favor. Macsen could out-stubborn her. He'd done it before.

 

Macsen played with lightning. He tried to make it flash in his hands like the sparks in winter blankets; small, harmless, and quiet.

 

Enchanter Dahlia saw. “Don't make me ask Ser Shannon for help, young man.”

 

Macsen rolled his eyes. Weren't templars supposed to help against _bad_ magic? He'd been playing with harmless magic.

 

He backed up a little bit, careful to keep his eyes forward. The swirls and flecks in the stone made pictures. One vein looked like a halla. Well, a halla with a twisted back leg that was about to fall on its face. Another looked like an angry old human with a very long beard. The base on the wall between this room and the next had a different kind of stone. They must have had to repair it later. They hadn't done a great job. A few of the stones had gaps between them that looked like caves.

 

What would live in a cave? Papae never took Macsen in any caves when they'd gone walking in the forest. One of the books Macsen had read told how the Tevinter magisters became darkspawn and moved underground. Were all caves full of darkspawn, then? That would be a good reason not to go into any. Papae must have known.

 

Macsen's mind had wandered back home to his family when a rat ran right past Macsen's feet towards one of the gaps. Mr. Wiggums, the scruffy tabby, came racing right behind. The cat swept the rat into the air, and caught it easily in his claws. The rat went still. It's belly spilled open where claws had ripped into it. Mr. Wiggums gave it a disappointed look.

 

Well, _that_ had been exciting for half a second. Macsen wished the cat hadn't made such short work of his hunt. How interesting it would be if the rat ran away again. Mr Wiggums pawed at it, just as a shimmer of light flickered around it. The rat's eyes shone purple with magic. It got up and ran off across the classroom, some of its entrails dragging behind it. Mr Wiggums gave a surprised “Mrowf!” and bounded after it. Macsen giggled.

 

“Macsen!” Enchanter Dahlia snapped.

 

The templar on duty stormed over to where Macsen stood, turning his laughter to a terrified gasp.

 

“I'll just take this elf to the First Enchanter, then, shall I?” Shannon grabbed Macsen's arm painfully.

 

“Nooo!” Macsen wailed. Lightning flashed out of his free hand. It danced across Shannon's breastplate and frizzed his red curls.

 

“Augh!” Shannon swept macsen up into his arms. He pinned Macsen's arms to his sides.

 

“Macsen!” Dahlia yelled. “Shame! What's the matter with you?”

 

“I- I don't know.” Macsen hadn't thought about it. Shannon grabbed him and his body wanted to fight back. “I'm sorry. Everything was an accident. I won't do it again, please!”

 

Enchanter Dahlia sighed. “I apologize, Shannon. I hate to bother Irving with this, but...”

 

“I'm sure he'll be very interested in that little display.” He hoisted Macsen into a more secure grip.

 

“I'm sorry! I won't do it again. I don't even know what happened! Let go!” Macsen thrashed and kicked, but it made no difference. When a grown human in platemail wanted an eight-year-old elf to go somewhere, not much else could be done.

 

They headed down to Irving's office. Macsen argued and pleaded the whole way. _They're going to hurt me, maybe with swords. I did a bad spell. I'm going to die and they don't know to bury me under a tree and I'll get lost in the Beyond with no halla and I won't be able to find my people._

 

Big, dark, and bald Ser Edmund stood guard at the end of the hall near the stairwell. He stopped Shannon from knocking. “Irving and Gregoir are in there arguing with those nobles from South Reach. They want a resident mage, and it's being decided who can be spared. Or trusted. Take your pick. This could be a while.”

 

“What am I supposed to do with this elf in the meantime? I should get back to the class I was watching.”

 

“Trouble again, eh? How should I know? Just put him somewhere vacant. I'll let Irving know to come find you when he can.”

 

“Gregoir too, probably.”

 

“Oh? Oh! This is that serious, then?”

 

“I'm sorry!” Macsen tried again to break Shannon's grip. “I didn't mean to do anything wrong! Please believe me.”

 

“You've said that before,” replied Edmund. “Just do what Shannon says until Irving has a chance to hear about this.”

 

Macsen could think of nothing to say to that. Shannon turned on his heel and carried him down the hall too quickly, anyway. They passed the mages' quarters, the chantry, the upper library, and the guest rooms, but all of them belonged to someone if they weren't being used. Shannon grumbled to himself about there being only one place for a maleficar anyway, however young.

 

They progressed all the way into the cellars. Macsen had never been down there, before. It was cold, and his breath showed. They hurried past several storerooms, past a few branching corridors, and at last reached several dungeon cells. Macsen hadn't known the tower had such things.

 

Shannon set Macsen down and opened the door of one of them. To think, Macsen's biggest problem this morning had been a mean teacher! Now, he'd cast a bad spell and attacked someone; everyone was angry, and they'd probably want to kill him like Mamae. After locking him in a dungeon.

 

A scary dungeon, with bars all around and chains dangling from the ceiling. _Falon'din protect me!_

 

He tried one more time to reason with Shannon. “Please, ser, if you put me in the dormitory, I will stay there. It's cold and creepy down here. And I keep telling you it was an accident!”

 

“No. I can't let you be around other mages right now. You'll have to wait here while Irving and Gregoir finish up with their meeting. They'll sort it all out.”

 

The man pushed Macsen inside and shut the door with a clang. His echoing footsteps retreated around the bend in the corridor.

 

*

 

The silence of the dungeon settled around Macsen like a physical thing.

 

He gasped several times. The frustration of never being listened to, the loneliness of having no family and spending every day separated from his only friend, the knowledge that nobody else had any time or use for him, and the fear that he'd finally done it- finally cast one of the fatal spells overwhelmed him. The mass of painful bruises forming from Shannon's grip on his arms didn't help. He hadn't let himself cry in ages, and now that nobody watched, the door he'd built inside of himself smashed open. Every sorrow spilled out in a flood of tears.

 

He thought he'd never stop. He soaked his left sleeve straight through. His chest hurt from the lack of breath. But then, something changed. The pain behind his face eased and his whole body felt lighter. In fact, everything felt better in general.

 

Yes, the templar was going to come back with Irving and Gregoir, who would probably feel they had to kill him for breaking shemlen magic laws. But Edmund had said it would be a while. In the meantime, nobody guarded him. Vhenpapae had told him to escape when he felt sure he could make it. Macsen didn't feel as sure as he would like, but he had to try now or never at all.

 

The door had locked upon closing. Macsen smacked his hand against it in frustration. It didn't even rattle. He stood on one bare foot and then the other as he thought about his options. The cold floor distracted him, and he pondered taking a different stance on shoes in future. The sides of the cell were barred, but... Macsen grinned. The cell hadn't been built to cage children, especially not somewhat undergrown elf children. He straightened as much as he could and slid sideways through the bars into the next cell over, where the door wasn't locked.

 

He ran, forming a plan as he went, his feet slapping the stones and his breath loud in his ears. If he made it to the kitchens he could hide in the supply crates and be lowered right out by the dumbwaiter. Easier said than done; those were on the third floor...

 

An ominous groan sounded behind him. Macsen whirled to face the source of it, and screamed.

 

He faced the stuff of his worst nightmares. A suit of armor stood near the wall. Light shone through in places where the armor joined; empty. And yet, it turned to face him. Two pinpoints of blue light shone where eyes should have been, but weren't. It readied its sword and shield.

 

Macsen called the lightning to his hands. It arced at the monstrosity, which slashed downward in return. A miss. He spun, it swung over his head. He sent another lightning bolt. It smashed him with its shield. Macsen skidded backwards on the floor, and turned the momentum into a somersault away.

 

Macsen ran. He could not defeat this monster with his bare hands. The storage rooms they'd passed- surely there would be something; a dagger, a staff? The ghost-armor gave chase. A line of fire lanced across Macsen's back as the swordpoint ripped into him. He wailed, but ran on.

 

A second suit rounded a corner as Macsen passed by an intersection. His blood ran cold. He bolted into the nearest door and slammed it shut, throwing the simple lock as fast as he could.

 

Shields beat against the door. Macsen thanked Ghilan'nain that they hadn't had enough brains to slip a foot in the opening before he could lock the door. Still, the wood wouldn't last against the relentlessness of two armored ghosts.

 

_Crash! Crash! Crash!_ The battery upon the door had no randomness to it at all, Each strike sounded exactly like the one before it. The space between it and the next always the same. Macsen needed no further proof that these things had no mortality in them.

 

His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the one lone glowlight set into the far wall. A heavy shelf lurked right next to it, and several boxes and bags hunched into all the corners. In the closer corner on the left, several staves poked out of the pile. Macsen grabbed one. It stood taller than he did. The cold metal sat uncomfortably in his hands, but its weight reassured him. He no longer felt completely helpless. Small, fragile, and bleeding, yes, but not without power.

 

_Crash! Crash! Crash!_

 

Macsen rummaged quickly through the piles to see if anything else seemed useful. He found a pair of gloves. Too big by far, they covered most of his forearms and the fingers stuck out past his own by an inch. Still, he figured they'd help some.

 

_Crash! Crash! Crash! Creak!_

 

That had to be the sound of a hinge giving up. Macsen braced himself for battle, but on second thought scampered up the bookshelf. He crouched atop it, the staff held at an angle. He hadn't much room to move, but he'd be over the heads of those things this way.

 

_Crash! Creak! Crunch._

 

The wood around the lock splintered away. The door swung open on half a hinge. The groans echoed through the room. The hulking shapes stood silhouetted in the doorway for a second. Macsen zapped the one he'd hit before. His blood stained its sword's tip.

 

He kept the staff trained on that one. Bolt after bolt whizzed into it. The sword cut across his knees, leaving his robes in tatters and his skin open. When he felt the readiness of the lightning, he sent another round of it. The sword arced into him again. The tip cut his leg. Nothing had ever hurt more. Macsen's vision swam. His blood trickled down to his feet. If only he could steal back some of the life the monster had stolen from him!

 

Macsen breathed in. _Must control the pain!_ Magic must move these things. He was no healer, but... instead of sending energy out at them, he pulled some back.

 

It worked! The last of the magic in that one drifted out in a puff of smoke that eased Macsen's hurts. It collapsed on its fellow. The remaining one reacted not at all to this development. It hacked and swung damaging the bookcase. Maybe it meant to cut it down like a tree. It swung the sword wildly over its head, and caught Macsen's gloved arm. The impact jarred his whole self. He pushed himself back against the wall. He tried the energy draining trick again. The lights in its helmet dimmed slightly, but it persisted. Macsen felt ready to collapse. When he drained their magic, it healed him ( _not enough!_ ) but cost him his own magic. He was cornered.

 

Something like intelligence kicked in. The thing reached up towards him on his perch. _This can't go on. I feel sick._ Macsen's breath came in ragged gasps. He could barely feel his magic, now. His next bolt of lightning sparked and fizzled on the tip of the staff, doing no harm.

 

A metal gauntlet seized Macsen's leg. He wailed. In one last desperate move, he pushed against the wall to launch over its head.

 

But no; the bookcase toppled, taking Macsen and monster down with it. The armor crashed and clattered. The heavy wood pinned it. Macsen fell clear of the shelves, full length with a loud slap. He turned his head in time not to hit his nose on his arms. The ghost released him; tried to seize him again. Macsen scurried back.

 

It pulled at its other arm, trapped. The sword scraped against the floor. Macsen had no magic left. The weapon would come free soon. Macsen bashed his staff straight through the visor of the helm. With one final  _whooooooohhhhh_ the armor fell silent. The eye lights flickered out.

 

Macsen sagged to the floor. He wanted to sleep for a million years.  _If I sleep for a minute, that's what will happen,_ he thought. He still bled, if less badly. He'd probably lost more than he should. He staggered to wobbly feet and pawed through the crates and bags to find something to stop the bleeding.

 

One of the crates held rolls of gauze and dusty vials. The vials had the distinct reddish tinge of elfroot. He'd never had any, but had seen it in the first aid kits. _You're supposed to drink this, right? Are they still any good? They look ancient. Oh well, nothing to lose._

 

He uncorked a particularly deep colored one, hoping it would be fresher or stronger than the rest. A grassy smell attacked his nostrils with more vigor than one really expected from grass. He drank it in three rapid gulps before the aggressive smell made him doubt.

 

The stuff might be red but it tasted golden. It tasted like summer afternoon but also like a cool wind. The aftertaste still had the wind part, but dry, crumbly leaves followed.

 

_So delicious, it reminds me of outside._ It also did its job. His bleeding had slowed when he drained the life from the ghosts, and now the pain receded. He still had the cuts to his legs, and probably to his back as well. He still had the bruises on his arms. They looked and felt less serious, though.

 

Would another one finish the job? Macsen decided not to chance it. Could you take too much? Did it have weird effects if it sat around in cellars too long? The sword had mostly shredded his clothing, but he had one remaining pocket. He stashed a few more vials, just in case.

 

He rolled gauze around the worst of his injuries on his legs, first. He couldn't reach his back, so he wadded some of it up and pressed it between himself and the wall, hoping the pressure would finish staunching the flow.

 

Macsen used the pause to think. Surely these creatures were tools of the circle, and he had destroyed two of them (barely). More of them must lie in wait. He couldn't stay here to be discovered, though. If the templars had been angry before, it would be so much worse, now. He could not risk capture. If they found him, Macsen decided, he would fight.

 

*

 

The interminable meeting drew to a close. Irving's stomach rumbled in complaint. The tea and cookies he and Gregoir had shared with their guests did little to prevent his knowledge that lunch began an hour ago.

 

They'd reached an acceptable compromise. South Reach would have a Creation specialist with some ability in fire. His presence would grant them status and he could help them recover from skirmishes between the occasional opportunistic Bann and the less frequent barbarian raids.

 

Irving had tried to send them a battlemage if their area was so dangerous, but he might have predicted that Gregoir wouldn't stand for it. In the heathen south so close to the wilds, someone with actual combat magic would have a better than average chance of running, if the fancy struck them.

 

He'd try again another time. Nobody needed this many bored Primal specialists in one tower. They needed to go find something to do... somewhere else, before someone burned it all down.

 

Irving slowly unbent his old frame and rose out of his chair. Gregoir offered assistance, despite being scarcely any younger.

 

Their guests returned to their quarters. Irving and Gregoir sighed aloud in tandem, and then chuckled. They'd worked together for so long, that as often as they butted heads, they had become a team of sorts, and their habits rubbed off on one another.

 

They both stifled groans as they left the office. Lunch looked like it would have to wait. Young Shannon came trotting down the hall, somewhat out of breath, his cheeks rosy. “Ser! First Enchanter! I came as soon as my relief arrived, and I saw that your meeting was over. I'm sorry to bother you, but this is very important.”

 

Edmund rolled his eyes. “I told him it could wait. That little elf apprentice is being a handful again, it sounds like.”

 

Shannon looked affronted. “A handful, you say? He reanimated a bleeding- literally bleeding- corpse!”

 

“He did what, now?” asked Edmund, dubiously, as Irving jolted to attention.

 

“He was being punished for talking back. One of the mousers ran in with a rat, killed it. A flicker of magic went from the elf to the rat, and it ran across the room, eyes glowing all evil. The little maleficar _laughed_. I tried to bring him right to you, but the meeting.”

 

_Foolish child._ Irving meant Shannon. That probably wasn't blood magic at all. To make sure, he asked “Was the child bleeding?”

 

“Why, no. He didn't have anything to injure himself with.”

 

Gregoir visibly relaxed. “Where is this child now?”

 

“I put him in the dungeon for safekeeping.”

 

“Uh.” Edmund ran his hand over his shiny bald head. “You need to relax, kid. I meant an empty classroom.”

 

“We had better get down there,” said Irving. “Quickly.”

 

Gregoir looked at him sharply. “You sound worried.”

 

“If the child is skinny enough, which I find plausible, he could slip through the bars. Would the sentinels perceive him as unauthorized and a threat, or as something like a cat, to be ignored?”

 

“Ah.” Gregoir asked nothing else, and sped to the dungeons.

 

Irving kept up, barely. He had a stitch in his side by the first floor.

 

They reached the lowest levels. Just as Irving feared, the sentinels had activated. He and Gregoir spoke the words to still them again.

 

“Is something loose down here, again?” Gregoir asked. “Or do you think he really slipped out?”

 

“I hope he didn't,” replied Irving. “Let us hope it is only spiders.”

 

“Lead us to where you put the boy,” Gregoir commanded. Shannon complied, but they hadn't gone far enough before they happened upon the smashed open door of a storage room in shambles. The armored remains of two sentinels lay crunched beneath a set of shelves. A sword lay discarded on the floor, its tip stained with blood.

 

Irving didn't need to see any more. He bolted to the cells.

 

They all stood empty.

 

“I'm sorry!” Shannon gasped. “I didn't know that was possible!”

 

“Idiot,” snapped Irving. “Of course it is.” _I did it once myself as a youngster. Went right back in as soon as the sentinels appeared. Macsen did not do that. “_ Either a child defeated two sentinels, or something is loose down here, after all. Either way, we must find him, quickly.”

 

Gregoir rested a hand on his shoulder. “We don't know anything yet, Irving. Shannon, bring Edmund and anyone else on the way who can be spared. You'll do a sweep of this level and find everything that's amiss.”

 

He didn't argue.

 

Irving and Gregoir began the search without him. They looked in the other cells first, then backtracked down the passage. Irving stopped in his tracks as he reached a smear of darkness in the middle of the floor. Further droplets led them back to the destroyed room. Investigation revealed more blood spatters around the shelves. When they lifted them off the remains of the sentinels, they saw that both swords had reddened tips.

 

“How is this possible?” Gregoir asked, wonder in his voice. “A little boy overcame two sentinels? I doubted, but could he be a bloodmage after all?”

 

Irving scowled at his companion. “If he is now, he wasn't at the beginning of the day. Shannon said he was being punished. Knowing Dahlia, Surana had been left too long idle. With no other outlet, his magic built up and acted upon the first unexpected event.” Distantly, he heard a handful of templars fanning out across the other rooms.

 

“The rat. You think he unintentionally used it as a puppet with his normal magic. That's as I thought in the beginning. Is he that powerful?”

 

Irving gestured at the sentinels. “Evidently. Although I would say that his heightened emotions are lending him that strength. Aha!” Irving pulled a crate of forgotten medical supplies, partially depleted, out from the chaos around it.

 

“Oh, that's a smart boy.”

 

Irving quirked an eyebrow. “You're on his side, now?”

 

Gregoir startled. “Of course. I don't want a child to come to harm. For what it's worth, I'm sorry one of my men overreacted so badly. We should hurry.”

 

They searched the other storerooms. A few signs of activity remained in one, but nothing like the first room. Another housed preserved food. A jug of cider, less dusty than all the rest, had been drained by a quarter. Irving found an empty patch on a shelf full of packets of jerky that he would wager had been less empty, before.

 

The next room they tried had a locked door. Edmund stood outside it. “I don't have a key, Ser. What do you want to bet, though?”

 

Irving and Gregoir shot a look between them. Irving nodded, and spoke through the door. “Macsen Surana, are you in there? You can come out. It's safe now.”

 

Silence.

 

“I didn't lock anything the last time I ventured down this way, did you?” Irving asked Gregoir.

 

“No.” Gregoir produced his keyring and unlocked the door.

 

The first thing Irving saw in the room was an acolyte's staff held at an odd angle and positively dancing with lighting. The flickers confused his vision in the half-light. By the time his eyes adjusted, a ragged, bloody figure held the staff at the ready.

 

“No! Stay back! I won't let you kill me!”

 

*

 

Muffled voices woke Macsen from a light sleep. He couldn't understand what they said, but knew them for normal people. They didn't moan like the monsters and their footsteps varied.

 

Irving called him through the door.

 

_Oh, no._ If they knew he was here, then he shouldn't bother hiding. He'd never escape now, but he would not sit there like a human's farm animal and just wait for his beheading. Irving said it was safe? Yeah, right. Either the First Enchanter lied, or didn't know what Macsen had done.

 

Only they had a key. Of  _course_ they did. Macsen cursed his lack of foresight. If he had left the door open, and left the desk covered, they might have walked right by him. The monsters had seemed so much more pressing than eventual discovery, before.

 

He readied the lightning. “No!” he shouted. “Stay back! I wont let you kill me.”

 

The fight ended before it began. Irving gestured. Macsen froze in place. A blue light covered his hands, and probably the rest of him. He could breathe, and blink, but not much else. Frightened whimpering worked, also.

 

Irving spoke again. “Child, that is a forcefield. Nothing can hurt you while it remains in place, but you cannot act. It will only remain a short time. We need to speak with you. Gregoir, do you promise not to hurt him?”

 

“Of course, did I not indicate... ah. Yes. Macsen, I will not kill you. Set the staff down once you are able, and we will go up to Irving's office and discuss today's events.”

 

Macsen blinked hard enough to count as a nod, he hoped.

 

*

 

They sat in Irving's office, with a proper meal spread over his desk. Some turnips and jerky Macsen had taken to eat later sat off to the side. Gregoir had carried Macsen up all the stairs once he saw how many cuts decorated his legs. Potions and whatever Macsen had done magically could only do so much. Enchanter Wynne had been called to clean him up while they had their talk.

 

“What made you believe we meant you harm, child?” Irving asked him.

 

“I did a bad spell. No matter how many times I said I didn't mean to, nobody would listen. If you do a bad spell, you die.” His voice trailed off in a whisper.

 

“Being put in a dungeon and chased by sentinels didn't ease your mind, I'm sure,” Irving gently replied. He quirked an eyebrow at Gregoir. “I must ask one thing, child. How did you cast the 'bad spell'?”

 

“I don't know. I was so bored in the corner. The cat chasing the rat was exciting, so I wished it could happen again. Magic jumped into the rat and it did. But Shannon got mad. Dahlia was already mad about how bad I am in class.”

 

“You mean you're having a difficult time with your studies?”

 

“No. They're so easy and I've done everything and I wish she would let me move up to be with the older kids but she won't and she's so mean and she thinks Jowan does my work for me but he doesn't and his work is so much more interesting and I HATE CLASS.” Macsen lunged to his feet at those final shouted words. He then blushed with embarrassment and took his seat, again, whimpering as his legs argued.

 

“You're already going to need dozens of stitches, child,” said Wynne. She rested her warm hand on his unharmed shoulder. It felt soothing. “Please try to stay still.”

 

Gregoir walked over to Irving's bookshelf and selected a book. He handed it to Macsen. “Can you read this for me?”

 

Macsen did. It looked like quite a good book. He read through the first two paragraphs of the life story of King Calenhad before Gregoir interrupted him.

 

“Very good. We'll have to find you a tutor, in addition to moving you out of the elementary group.” Irving shot him a surprised look. “What? Do you disagree?”

 

“Not at all. I'll tutor him myself.”

 

Gregoir rubbed his chin. “That would probably be best.”

 

“So. Wait,” said Macsen. “I get to be in Jowan's class. You're not mad about the rat. You're not mad about the ghosts even though they're your ghosts.” He just wanted to go hide under his covers all of a sudden. He'd been so sure he would die, but now he was being rewarded? Everything felt very confusing.

 

Irving's eyes softened. “There are many things about today I wish had gone differently. We can repair the 'ghosts' as you call them, however. Punishing you beyond what you've already suffered seems... completely beside the point.”

 

Gregoir folded his arms “We'll keep a close eye on you in future, however.”

 

Macsen nodded. “Yes, ser.”

 

Wynne interrupted, saying she needed to take him elsewhere in order to work properly. She pointed out that Macsen seemed “in need of quiet rest.” Macsen agreed. He didn't want any more excitement today. As they headed out the door, he heard Irving say “So, about bored mages, Gregoir...”

 

*

 

Jowan held his hand as Wynne tended Macsen's wounds. She poured mana into him so he'd heal quickly, and washed out everything so that it would not become infected. She stitched his back and knees.

 

“You did well,” she told him. “This could have been a lot worse if you hadn't done all you did to heal yourself.”

 

“Thank you,” he mumbled. Macsen still didn't entirely understand why nobody was mad. Everyone was always mad at him except Jowan, who looked at him very strangely just then. Macsen didn't like it. “What's wrong?” he asked.

 

“I always knew you were scary-smart. I never would have guessed you'd win a swordfight without a sword, though.”

 

“I found a staff. I had to, that's all. It was close. I couldn't have done it again, so it's lucky I managed to sneak past the rest of the guard ghosts. Maybe they just didn't think I was worth bothering with, by then. I don't know. I didn't have much fight left.”

 

“I'm so glad you're going to be all right. I'm just a little weirded out.”

 

“By me?”

 

Jowan shook his head. “Ghost armor in the basement, mostly. Although, I guess you won't need me to look out for you anymore.” He sounded sad.

 

“You can, though? I wished you were with me, today. I'll look out for you sometimes too maybe.”

 

“It's a deal.”


End file.
